


Intimacy

by smutcity



Series: Tales of Revas Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Interlude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutcity/pseuds/smutcity
Summary: Solas finds a nostalgia in the Inquisitor he hadn't expected to find in centuries. A sugary sweetness in a bitter situation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was really craving for some fluff after the most domestic dream I ever had so I figured I'd write it down without the usual dream-oddness to interrupt it.
> 
> Also I may have taken the liberty to excuse writing drunks with drunk writing so I'm terribly sorry if that parts' confusing.

A throbbing headache was the expected result of a night of what substituted for celebration. Orlais was still with it's Empress, at the very least. Solas had to admit that, once the immediate threat was over, wine was a welcome guest for once. 

It seemed, however, that this was not his only guest for the morning. 

The light pouring in through the large windows of the room was a nuisance that stopped him from opening his eyes. Against his chest, he could feel a steady breathing, accompanied by a rhythmic whistling of a half stuffed nose. Were his knowledge of who was currently suffering an annoying cold not enough, certainly the corkscrew curls that tickled his lips were a hint. 

Indeed, he found as he moved his free hand – the other succumbing to an uncomfortable tingle beneath the heavy weight of an elven warrior – pressed to his chest was the well trained body of the none other than the Inquisitor himself, peacefully cuddled into him and, at the very least, as naked as he was on the chest and arms. 

It certainly explained the warmth beneath expensive linen that otherwise wouldn't provide much heat. Solas was reluctant, but still forced his eyelids to rise, squinting in the light of the morning sun. It was dreadful. Whoever had invented celebrations and alcohol should have been punished centuries ago. 

When his eyes had finally adjusted to the lighting, he looked down. Sure enough, what greeted him was the sleeping face of the mahogany skinned elf, hidden behind copious black curls. The lightest stir caused the man to grunt a complaint. Solas froze shortly as calloused fingers pressed to his skin - one pulling him in by the back, the other by the backside. The shift hadn't been comfortable. The arm that'd been under him now pressed snugly against his ribcage. 

Solas moved his hand to brush the side of Revas' face. As the older elf further woke, he found himself slowly recalling events of the night before.  
\---------- 

_"You're drinking too much," Revas had chimed, lips forming a warm smile as he, himself, brought another set of glasses for the two of them._

_"Or you not enough. It is a night of celebration and we've already suitably made either a fool or a spectacle of ourselves. Perhaps both," the mage responded. As he was handed his drink, he rose it in toast. "I feel it's decades since I've had a chance to relax and enjoy this type of event. Don't hound me with limitations."_

_There was a brief furrow in Revas' brows. Solas was always talkative, and some states weren't that friendly towards it. Belatedly, the warrior tapped his glass to the one offered to him, then downed his drink in a few easy gulps. The Dalish had no class, Solas found. Though, he supposed Revas was suffering from his own limitations throughout the entire night. Being out of ear and eye shot of everyone was a personal freedom._

_He shifted, then swayed as his world sought balance anew. Leaning against the balustrade was significantly better than standing on his own, he soon found, and Solas turned to rest his back to it, looking over at the warrior._

_Revas was talking but he wasn't listening at all. Plush lips were moving over slightly tinted teeth, hints of sharp canines reminding him how different the elves here were. Before he was of average height, but even with Revas' powerful build he towered over him. He wondered what Revas would've been like, were he an immortal elf during the time of Elvhenan. With magic coursing through his fingertips as easily as the magic of the mark. Most probably impressively tall. Flat teeth and a look of adoration as he looked down at him. Tall. Very tall._

_Maybe he was drinking too much._

_"-perfectly respectable but this whole things' just a nuisance. 'Don't answer questions directly, don't look people in the eye too long, don't jump over things to get to the other side,' you know?"_

_Solas nodded thoughtfully. It was almost like he wasn't imagining the Inquisitor, tall and proud by his side, just as brash and forward as he'd been in his younger years._

_"Also there'd been far too little sex."_

_There was an abrupt pause in their conversation. Solas slightly pursed his lips, wondering why Revas wasn't continuing. Revas was staring at him, wondering why he'd just brought up the severe lack of sex._

_"Are you hanging in there alright?" Revas asked, finally, and actually smirked. It was beyond amusing, surely, to see Solas significantly off his usual step. The mage responded with another nod._

_"Absolutely."_

_Somehow, Solas' mind managed to filter out everything after that except for him pressing his lips in against those of the warrior. The thick smack of saliva, tongue and lips. Revas noting something about them not being in the Fade and himself uttering something about him needing to shut up._

\---------- 

Everything beyond that was a haze. He couldn't remember which part of it was a dream, which part of it was a desire, and which part actually happened. 

"Stop looking-" 

The rumble of Revas' voice physically jerked him out of his thoughts, made his thumb slip to an eye, and the Dalish elf cringed heavily. Revas swatted away the hand, grabbed at his own head afterwards. Solas' voice was deterred by the body on his sleeping arm abruptly shifting, causing himself to uneasily bite his tongue. 

"Your breath reeks," Revas continued, charming as ever. "Stop craning your head down like that." 

"And a good morning to you, Inquisitor." Solas would be lying if he said he didn't purposefully curl up just that bit further. "As much as I enjoy your shining personality, please stop severing my arm." 

An incredibly reluctant groan was his response, but the elf did push himself up to a seated position, leaving Solas to draw his arm closer to himself. He wished he hadn't the second blood started flowing freely towards his fingertips. Part of him wondered if there was irony behind an ancient legend of the Dalish, respected albeit somewhat feared, now at the whims of one who blearily stared down at him as he tried to collect his thoughts. A mortal elf with a lifespan so short, significantly shorter so if Solas' plan to fix his mistakes went through, he felt he could blink and everything would be gone. 

Perhaps the occasional crudeness would make it easier, he'd thought. 

But as Revas shifted across him, pinning Solas' hips flat to the bed with his thighs and leaned forwards to feather a kiss against his cheekbone, his thoughts shattered like a glass. Course hands rested on his chest, traced up his collarbone and along his neck to cup his jaw, making a guide way for Revas to kiss to the tip of his nose. The man was breath taking; dark skin and marble body sculpted with muscles he doubted he could ever grow, a long mane of hair that only elevated the regality with which he somehow still carried himself despite forward tone, all bleeding heart and a desire for better for those around himself. Dark eyes, looking at him with a fondness as if he'd found the last piece of himself.

Emotions and warmth he hadn't felt or encountered in centuries, wrapped in a small package that both made him feel at home and yearn for home. 

"You're distracted again," Revas spoke softly against his skin, and the pale elf smiled. 

"I fear Orlesian wine has gotten the better of me. It's created an odd nostalgia." 

"Mmm." A tender kiss to the lips ended the hum. "Know what could fix that?" 

Solas merely responded with the quizzical arch of a brow, and with the way his lovers' face softened, the corners of lips arched up, he knew he was going to regret it. 

"Mouthwash." 

A solid smack of a pillow was Solas' eloquent response.


End file.
